


No more, Steve, I promise...

by Melarissa



Series: I'm translating myself [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Loss of Memory, Mentions of Murder, Misunderstandings, Not quite HTP but kinda HTP-adjacent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Translation from Russian, references to castration, Аmbiguous Situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melarissa/pseuds/Melarissa
Summary: Eavesdropping is not good, you can hear things that you do not like at all
Series: I'm translating myself [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456210
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33
Collections: WTF Winter Soldier 2019





	No more, Steve, I promise...

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Стив, я больше не буду!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385672) by [Melarissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melarissa/pseuds/Melarissa). 



> This is my own translation of my fic written for Winter Contemporary Contest 2019. I owe a lot to my team "Winter Soldier 2019", because the idea was born in our team chat.  
> A have to thank Bro [tomix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomix) for his help and organisation talents. 
> 
> And this text would be an awful mix of google translation and mistakes without [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl). All the good things are hers, all the mistakes are mine. Thank you so much!

If Bucky could, he would want to lose his hearing. Not completely, but just enough to not hear the piteous and excited whispers behind his back. However, the serum gave him no mercy; he could hear a pin drop on a table in another room...and each and every word, when Steve spoke on the telephone. He's calling someone he knows well. There were neither long polite phrases nor a dry, military-like greeting. Bucky tried not to listen, but the second sentence caught his attention completely. 

“Did you have a doctor in mind? Privately.” 

Bucky hates and fears meds with a kind of childlike strength. White coats and the smell of medicine put him into combat mode. 

“I don't want to advertise it, you know. It’s an extreme measure, but this is just too much to bear.” 

Here it is. He knew this day would come. At some point, all handlers lost their patience. Steve lasted the longest, but even though he's a super soldier, he's still a human. 

“Yeah, the usual. Yelling all the time, day and night.” 

Damn. Just three days ago, he’d yelled at Steve. The best, most patient, and friendliest handler he’d ever had. Someone who never put him in the chair, locked him in the dark, deprived him of food and water, or whipped him with a belt (or worse). And he’d yelled at him. And at night, too. The dreams came at night. At night, Bucky couldn’t tell what was a hallucination and what was reality. He would toss around in bed, scratching at the mattress and sheets, tearing them to shreds until Steve would arrive. Steve would sit on the edge of the bed, and just by him being there, the shadows surrounding the bed would retreat to the corners, and Bucky could sleep again. Steve had never told him that the nightmares irritated him. But really, who would _like_ to get up like that, night after night?

“Oh, yes, tore it all up. Both in the bedroom and in the living room.”

The living room had been an accident. The movie they were watching reminded him too vividly of something from his previous life, and he unconsciously dug his metal fingers into the upholstery of the sofa. He still isn't used to the fact that ordinary things break easily because of his prosthesis. It's not fair. Steve swore it didn't matter, that he would fix the couch or buy a new one. But it turns out he was angry after all.

“Yeah, first it's lying on the floor, howling, then it wants in your lap. Then, next thing you know, all your pants are covered in hair.” 

Bucky ran a hand over his head. A long strand of hair remained between his fingers. It’s true that they’re more visible, because his hair is so long and dark. Steve's hair also falls out, but it's short and blond, so you can barely see it. If he had known... should he have shaved his head? Would that make Steve less angry? And that other thing— that Steve doesn't like it when he comes to him for comfort…? Steve is always so steady and warm, his heart pounding in that soothing, exact rhythm, while Bucky's heart skips a beat and then goes racing at a furious gallop. Steve has such big, strong hands. He knows how to hold Bucky without letting him fall apart. Bucky hadn’t thought it was unpleasant. 

“And it’s been caught in the refrigerator so many times! It sneaks food it shouldn’t have, then eats in corners — sometimes even the wrappers — and then it vomits all over.” 

It was only the once, with the wrapper, and that was a long time ago. In the beginning. Bucky had been so hungry that he couldn't properly unwrap the protein bar and had chewed half the wrapper along with the contents. Now, he tries to eat often and regularly to avoid such attacks. And— and Steve had said he was allowed to go into the kitchen and take things from the refrigerator at any time of the day. And eat them. And if Bucky prefers to eat in his bedroom, under the bed…isn’t that okay? It’s more calm. And he doesn't throw up as much these days— and if he does, then he cleans it all up carefully. He would prefer that all of the images of blood splatters, brain mass on shoes, and vacant, dead eyes could be wiped from his memory, but they remain. Steve wants him to remember things. And sometimes, they’re so disgusting that they make him sick. 

“It’s trained to use the toilet most of the time, but sometimes it pisses in the sink. I think it just wants to be a contrary asshole.”

No. No, Steve… There's only _one_ toilet in this apartment, and _you_ like to read the newspaper on it while you relieve yourself. And Bucky has his needs, too. So yes, sometimes he’d used the kitchen sink— but then he’d always rinsed it thoroughly! Is there a camera in the kitchen? You promised, Steve, no bugs. No cameras. But the handlers always lie. And, it turns out, even the best handler in the world does, too. 

“I’ve just read that castration helps. It’ll be calmer, its appetite will level off, it’ll stop howling and marking everything in the apartment… and why would it need balls, anyway? It never uses them.” 

Castration. _That's_ Steve’s answer? But, Bucky muses... why _would_ he need balls? They’re not useful. Except for the occasional short jerk before going to sleep, for old times' sake. But without his balls, even that might be unnecessary. Maybe if they cut his balls off, he’ll be better equipped to handle his memories? But Steve… Not even HYDRA considered that idea. 

“Yes, I’ll let her know. I have the number, thank you. We can be there in a couple of days for initial intake and to plan the procedure. He’s a big guy, I'll come with. I can help hold him down. Thanks.” 

Steve hung up the phone. Bucky got up and walked stiffly to the door of the room. Then he fell to his knees, head down, eyes on the floor, so that his hair covered his face. He mustn’t forget to vacuum it all up later. Now that he knows it bothers Steve, he can do better. 

Steve turned in surprise at the knock. He had never seen Bucky on his knees like this before. Something seemed to have gone terribly wrong.

“Forgive me, Steve,” Bucky said thickly. He sounded so grim. Steve was worried. 

“Don't be silly, Buck. What do you need forgiveness for? You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Bucky sighed.

“For everything,” he murmured. “For the hair, for howling and screaming. For breaking things. For eating under the bed. For... the sink. And vomiting. It won't happen again. Just, Steve, please… may I have general anaesthesia, at least?” 

"Why the anaesthesia?" Steve sounded a little panicked. 

“For the castration. I haven’t gone through that before. I understand why you think it’s necessary, and I don't mind, but may I _please_ have general anesthesia?” 

Bucky felt rather than heard the movement, and soon strong arms were around him and pulling him to his feet. A few seconds later, he was on the sofa, the one with the torn upholstery. There was a patch— Steve must have fixed it at some point.

"Bucky," Steve said huskily. "Buck, I wasn’t talking about you. It's— I was talking about the cat. Natasha’s cat. She brought it from somewhere, bulky as a dog, and completely restless. We’re thinking about castrating him— neutering him— so that maybe it’ll calm him down. I was looking for a veterinarian! Oh, Bucky, I would never… You could take this apartment apart, brick by brick, and I would still…! Bucky, what on earth...?”


End file.
